


Sweet

by SCFrankles



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson are the last two chocolates left in the box. Can they make it to safety before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: [Unexpected Kindness](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1481503.html) at [Watson's Woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) on LJ. 
> 
> Holmes and Watson are the creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
>  
> 
> This fic was inspired by some of [okapi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi)'s ideas. So I think she should probably take the blame ^^
> 
> * * *

It had been a fraught time recently for the contents of the _Baker Street_ chocolate box.

Mrs. Hudson’s sweet shop had been such a splendid place to reside. Mr. Sherlock Holmes _(a crisp dark exterior with a golden centre of smooth, delicious honey)_ and his companion Dr. Watson _(a decorative shell containing a brandy liqueur filling)_ had led a comfortable existence alongside their neighbours, the two of them keeping busy by solving the occasional case. _(“...and so I deduce the strawberry creme must be Mr. Gladwell.” “Astonishing, Holmes! How on earth did you work it out?” “Well, Mr. Gladwell is the one in the shape of a strawberry...”)_

But their perfect life had come abruptly to an end when the box was bought by a professor and removed to his home. One by one, Holmes and Watson’s neighbours disappeared and did not return. By the time Holmes worked out the truth there was only him and Watson left, and the great detective made a courageous decision to ensure the professor would never cause harm to a chocolate again.

 

An awful struggle over the chasm ended with Holmes finally going down the wrong way and the professor was carted off to hospital. However, some vigorous banging on the back was prescribed, Holmes was expelled across the ward and after a journey of some days, he managed to return to a rejoicing Watson.

Unfortunately though, their celebrations did not last long. While the Professor was in hospital, his friend the Colonel—perhaps fearing the sight of it would cause the Professor distress—came and collected the chocolate box and took it away with him...

 

And now Holmes and Watson lay hidden, deep within the confines of their home.

“We cannot stay here forever, Holmes!” declared Watson. “This man may not be a genius like the other, but he will eventually discover there is a second layer. And then it’s the gullet or the dustbin for us!”

But Holmes was fervent. “I will not risk your safety,” he said. “Once the house is empty, we can make our escape.”

Watson sighed. “There will never be an empty house, Holmes. Surely there will always be at least one servant at home. No, we must take the bull by the horns—we cannot expect opportunity to come knocking!”

At this point, there was some knocking.

Watson and Holmes stared at each other. Then Watson picked up Holmes’s bodkin (he’d needed it for a case—something about stabbing a sugar pig repeatedly) and making his way up to the box’s surface, gingerly opened the lid.

He gazed at the visitor, puzzled. It was a Brussels sprout.

“I wonder if I could perhaps ask for some assistance...” said the sprout.

And wilted.

“Holmes!” yelled Watson.

Holmes quickly appeared and together the two chocolates carried the sprout carefully inside. The poor chap wasn’t in the best of conditions—his outer leaves turning yellow, his heart somewhat squishy. But once laid down in the soft wrappers of the second layer, he revived and smiled weakly.

“Thank you, my dear sirs.”

Holmes looked concerned.

“But who are you? Why have you come here to this dangerous place?”

“My name is Maarten Vandroogenbroeck,” said the sprout. “And I have tunnelled through from a far more perilous location.” He paused. “There’s a Vegetarian Restaurant next door.”

Watson was aghast. “They were going to eat you?”

“That would have been a mercy! No, nobody wants a Brussels sprout—not even vegetarians. I wanted to go in search of a better life for myself. But…” Vandroogenbroeck sighed. “I left it too late. I’m going… I’m going…”

“Off?” suggested Holmes, perhaps a little tactlessly.

“Nonsense!” said Watson. “There’s hope yet.”

He turned to Holmes.

“Pass me the bodkin again, would you?”

Even in his weakened state, Vandroogenbroeck flinched. However, Watson was quick to reassure him.

“It’s not for you, sir. I’m going to drill a hole and give you some of my brandy.”

Holmes paused in passing the bodkin, his horror plain to see. _“Watson._ It’s far too dangerous a procedure. You mustn’t!”

“It is my duty,” said Watson solemnly.

“No!” said Vandroogenbroeck. “Your friend is right—it is too late for me. And I don’t think brandy would suit a sprout anyway.” He looked hopeful. “Do you perhaps have some salt and good butter?”

Holmes and Watson looked apologetic.

“It was worth a shot,” said Vandroogenbroeck. “But no, I cannot allow you to risk your own health for mine. However, I do not want my death to have been in vain. Maybe I can help you both instead…”

He gestured to Watson to come forward, and began to whisper to him. The whispering became fainter and fainter, with larger pauses, until at last it stopped altogether.

Watson looked over at Holmes.

“I’m afraid he’s gone.”

The doctor gently smoothed down his late patient’s leaves and sighed.

 

“It was so kind of him,” said Watson, adjusting his costume.

“A brave and generous sprout,” agreed Holmes, as he put the finishing touches to his own outfit.

Taking a deep breath, the two of them raised the lid of the chocolate box and looked around cautiously. There was no-one about.

Holmes scrambled out, Watson following on.

“Watson, no, wait! Go back in!”

But it was too late. The maid had just entered and was looking straight at them. Holmes and Watson stared back, not daring to move, the moment dragging for what felt like an eternity.

Then the maid shrugged, and went and got on with some dusting.

“Holmes,” said Watson, “it worked!” He twirled gleefully in his disguise of borrowed leaves. _“Nobody’s_ interested in Brussels sprouts.”

Holmes grinned.

And together the two pseudo-sprouts hurried across to their late acquaintance’s tunnel and disappeared inside—making their way swiftly over into the Vegetarian Restaurant and so to safety.

 

Once in the restaurant, they discarded their disguises and managed to make a new life for themselves, happily ignored by the diners and cooks as the unhealthy option.

And here too there were cases to solve!

They made the acquaintance of Inspector Lettuce and many more police-vegetables. And naturally Holmes and Watson were always prepared to help out—when one or other of the inspectors found themselves in the soup.


End file.
